Layover in Dubai

“A prostitute and her pimp. The subject is money. She’s Asian; her Russian is terrible. His accent is Georgian, like Stalin’s. Oh, dear.”

“What happened?”

The shouting gave way to the sound of a scuffle.

“He slapped her. Now he’s forcing her into his car.”

“Shouldn’t you do something?”

“I’m not even in uniform. And the last thing we want is attention, especially when the people we are going to see are probably his bosses. In fact, you can sit up now. We are almost there.”

“Russians?” Sam struggled up from the floor and brushed himself off. “You’re taking me to some Mafia thing?”

Traffic was moving again. No Asian woman or Russian man was in sight.

“I was hoping you might recognize a few of them from the other night at the York.”

“Are you crazy?”

“My wife thinks so. But only because I brought you into the house, a viper to steal her daughter’s virtue. Do not worry, we will stay well out of sight.”

“You said we were just going to a mall.”

“We are. To observe a strelka of rival factions, Russians and Iranians.”

“A what?”

“A meeting. A conclave. These fellows have taught me all sorts of Russian that my tutors never dreamed of. A strelka is a meeting of rival thugs.”

“They meet at malls?”

“Out in the open, where they know they can trust each other, and neither side has a natural advantage. They’ll probably stake out part of a restaurant. We’ll watch from a safe distance.”

Sam saw they were only a few blocks from the York Club.

“I didn’t know there were any malls in this part of town.”

“It’s Dubai. There are malls in every part of town. And don’t let the look of the district fool you. The Burjuman is very upscale, although I cannot say it is one of my favorites.”

“You have favorite malls?”

It came out harsher than he intended. Sharaf turned in his seat.

“Tell me, Mr. Keller, have you ever been in Dubai in July?”

“No.”

“You would not ask that question if you had. In the summer the malls are our Great Outdoors. Everyone has their favorites. Everyone. Because of this, each mall has acquired its own personality, its own clientele. And the Burjuman, well, it is not to my liking, even though I can certainly appreciate its strengths as well as its drawbacks.”

“Which are?”

“You are an observant man. I am sure you will see.”

Looming just ahead was a sleek glass tower, maybe thirty stories tall, with curving walls that tapered to a sharp point, making the structure a giant wedge. Perched atop it was a huge fan of perforated steel, like the sail of a capsized windsurfer.

“Is that it?”

“The mall is on the lower floors. We will park underneath it.”

They swerved into an underground garage. Sharaf snatched a ticket as the gate swung clear. The Camry was a humble addition to rows of gleaming SUVs and luxury sedans.

“So we’re going to walk up to these guys, just like that?” Sam asked.

“Patience.”

There were plenty of empty spaces, but Sharaf drove to the lowest level. In the middle of the vast deck was a glass-walled chamber with an escalator that climbed past a roaring man-made waterfall cascading from the overhead floors where, presumably, all the shops were. They ignored that entrance, and walked instead to unmarked elevator doors in a far corner of the parking deck. Sharaf punched in a numeric code to open the doors and they rode up a few floors. The rear door opened onto a nondescript hallway leading to unmarked steel doors at the far end. Sharaf knocked. A buzzer sounded and they entered a gray vestibule rimmed in chrome.

A fellow in a security uniform emerged from around the corner. Sharaf, wearing gray Western slacks and a black long-sleeved shirt, flashed an ID, and the man wordlessly escorted them to the next room. Sam had no idea what a mall security center was supposed to look like, but he suspected that, as with so many other things in Dubai, this one was lavish and excessive.

A massive three-panel bank of video monitors fanned out around a semicircle of black Formica-topped desks. Each panel had more than a hundred screens, all of them in full color and crystal clear. The desks were covered with telephones and laptops. A uniformed man sat in front of each panel, watching intently. All three of them wore headphones, so apparently they could listen as well as observe.

“Looks like the control room of a nuclear power plant,” Sam said.